My Story

is sad to be sure

I have no history,

no flag or country,

no love, or sorrow.

My life leaves no ripple and no story,

no breath has passed my lips,

A virgin of the purest kind,

Borne of lust or love no one knows

as no stone

Marks the passing of my bones

No tears fall when I am lost.

No hearts are broken when I’m gone.

A number marks me among the countless thousands that have come and gone

before a consciousness marked the beating of my heart.

It beats no more

much to the sadness of a loving God

When two cells joined in love or lust created life unloved,

my tears unseen and unheard go to a Loving God

Who weeps alone at my passing ghost

As I cross the great divide to wait for those

Who disposed of a soul

With careless calculation

Of a right to choose life or death

And Like the Roman crowds at the gladiators fall

Put thumbs down.